


you make a prettier picture when there's no camera

by LetMeLeadForever



Category: Free!
Genre: Haru doesn't know what feelings are, M/M, Masturbation, Mildly Dubious Consent, Porn Watching, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-28
Updated: 2017-01-28
Packaged: 2018-09-20 12:00:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9490115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LetMeLeadForever/pseuds/LetMeLeadForever
Summary: It wasn't a ritual, it wasn't some kind of hobby - that implied care and planning. It was a habit.





	

**Author's Note:**

> this is dedicated to elizabeth. you're my main hoe in a sea full of side hoes.
> 
> basically, makoto masturbates and haru watches from afar. and haru is turned on and confused and wow makoto has big hands Nice.

It wasn't a ritual, it wasn't some kind of hobby - that implied care and planning. It was a _habit_.

If Haruka stood close enough to his window, and if Makoto kept his curtains open deep into the night, he found he could see into the other boy's room. The view wasn't exactly clear, and the angle felt odd to stand in for too long, but Haru didn't do it often. Or ever, really. Just once or twice, when boredom struck, when Makoto's curtains were open. 

It was easier to watch when he knew he wasn't being watched. Makoto's eyes were too gentle sometimes, seeing parts of Haru that he wasn't ready to share; this guaranteed him the promise of privacy. Haru could walk away when he pleased without fear of upsetting his friend. Haru could stand, and stare, and study, for as long as he wanted without being questioned. _Perhaps it was more ritualistic than he thought._ Makoto had never been very good at closing his curtains.

Most of the time, Makoto made a boring study. Sometimes he read, glasses poised on his nose, back straight against his bed. Sometimes he played games, or texted, or pretended to study. Sometimes, he chewed on the end of pens, and wrote. 

Now was not a ' **sometimes** '. 

If he was Rei, he would have called the situation a mathematical anomaly that didn't fit with the steady curve of his results. He wasn't Rei. He didn't call the situation anything. He simply stood and watched, eyes open and lips parted. 

Still naked from his shower, Makoto hadn't deemed it important enough to get dressed. Haru's fingers twitched, the slightest flinch of his muscle, instincts telling him to grab his phone. To text Makoto to shut his curtains, that anyone could be watching him. Any kind of pervert. Makoto's towel dropped, and Haru's hand dropped back to his side. He would warn him later, perhaps. If anyone was watching, the damage had already been done. Who was Haru to stop fate? 

The sight wasn't completely foreign to Haruka. His chest and his legs, thighs and arms, had been bared to him since they were children. There was no hiding the wide expanse of his shoulders during swimming. Even the jut of his hips was familiar, like a lullaby carved into Makoto's body, a song he had grown with. It just held foreign parts to it. 

Like the deep v-lines just below his hips, scoping downwards. The place where those v-lines led. The implication of his body. Haru's gaze fell down, down, and paused, before dropping away completely. He shuffled back from the window, fist clenching and unclenching by his side. He stepped closer again, deep breaths ghosting faint marks across his window. 

It felt _odd_. It felt _wrong_. Not that he was staring at his best friend, naked and still dripping, but rather that he'd never seen this before. Makoto had always been too soft, too trusting, like an open wound - it wouldn't be long before he risked being infected, festering and blistering. Makoto showed him everything, every little part of him, and accepted the scraps of affection Haru offered. There shouldn't have been a part of Makoto that had been hidden for so long, that could only be glimpsed from this distance, from their little facades of privacy. 

Makoto had moved. He'd spent a few minutes padding around his room, smoothing out his sheets, disappearing in and out of Haru's line of sight, fiddling with his computer. He even tripped over his own feet, having the audacity to look sheepish even when he was alone. Haru wondered how anyone could be so vulnerable. But, now, he sat, laptop open on his desk. 

And it wasn't like Haruka had no idea what sex was, or what porn was, because his parents had been..... _thorough_ , but it was still a surprise to see two figures pop up on Makoto's screen. It was blurry, too blurry, but he could make out the subtle pink of flesh, the place where they joined. It wasn't like Haruka didn't know what porn was, but it was an odd thought to know that Makoto watched it. That he sat on his desk chair, where Haru had sat thousands of times, and turned on his computer, which Haru had used thousands of times, and...

Makoto's hands looked bigger than he remembered them, not that he strived to remember them too vividly. The boy had always been too tactile, helping him from the pool, clapping him on the back, pressing against his thigh when he was particularly nervous. They had felt smaller then, a memory of a child's hand, the touch of a lifelong friend. They looked far bigger sliding from his laptop, curling across his desk, dropping to his lap. Wrapping around his....

Haru shifted his weight, mouth dry and agitated. He should go fetch a glass of water, or take a bath, or do anything to pull himself away from the sight of Makoto's hand wrapped around his cock. His own fingers curled into the hem of his shirt, palm pressing flat across his stomach, where a sudden tightness had found itself. Like knots were inside of him, warm and heavy. Annoying. 

Makoto started with slow strokes of his hand, up and down, palm slick with spit. He looked too relaxed, back pressed against the chair, cock half-hidden from Haru's view. He shuffled slightly, dropped to his knees, found a better angle. He could see something wet on the tip of Makoto's cock, his pace still leisurely, experienced at giving himself pleasure. 

His gaze shifted to the flex of Makoto's arm, the ripple of his back muscles, wondering if Rei would call it beautiful. Wondering if Kou would enjoy the sight of so much muscle on display. Wondering what he thought of the sight. He supposed it wasn't ugly, just enough to catch his attention, to cause the tightening in his stomach to flutter to his chest. 

His thumb brushed across the head of his cock, using the precome as slick to make the glide easier. Makoto's hand sped up, tongue wetting his lips, leaning forward slightly. His eyes were still focused on the video in front of him, a man transfixed, and Haru had to shuffle once more. This time, it wasn't to get a better view. 

His eyes dropped to his own cock, a subtle bulge in his pants, trapped under layers of material. He made no attempt to fix that, eyes sliding back to Makoto. He looked breathless, bottom lip held between his teeth, body tense. Haru felt breathless, cheek pressed against the window, eyebrows knitted together. 

And then Makoto's hand was stopping, loose around the base of his dick. Haru realized he was coming belatedly, white shooting across his chest. At least, he assumed so. The angle was too odd, especially with Makoto turning to pluck tissues from his table. Oh. That's what those were for. Haru had always assumed it was for when he got a cold, to assist his best friend, because everything Makoto did was to make Haru's life easier. Apart from this. This seemed entirely self-indulgent.

It's another moment before the pair make any solid decisions to move. Makoto seemed too focused on catching his breath, shoulders relaxing, unwinding against the chair. Haru was trying to catch his breath, too, then trying to find strength in his legs, then trying to will his legs to move. He only stands to his feet and stumbles back when he sees Makoto stand, knowing that he couldn't get caught now. It would look too weird now.

It would look like he enjoyed it.

He closes his own curtains, the dark blue blocking out the light from the room, finding his phone after fumbling in the darkness. If he turned his light on, Makoto would have known he was watching. Maybe he'd know, anyway. His fingers dance across the screen, typing out a text, pretending his hand wasn't shaking. It was because he was unused to using his phone. It wasn't because he was....nervous.

He didn't get nervous.

**You should close your curtains. -NH**

He places the phone screen down on his desk, not particularly wanting to look at it anymore. Or see it flash with a message. Or see Makoto's reply. 

Instead, he slipped into the comforting warmth of his bed, and closed his eyes, and wrapped his hand around his aching cock. 

**Author's Note:**

> follow me @ anchoredwerewolf on tumblr for more Sin.


End file.
